


One Way to Score

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Hook-Up, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Multiple Penetration, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Prosthesis, Prosthetic Kink, Self-Reflection, Sloppy Makeouts, Stress Relief, Teasing, Tentacle Dick, Threesome - M/M/M, Xeno, Xenophilia, mostly from Rolo's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: Rolo turns to Keith with a smile after a few minutes of patiently listening to him rant, wiping the oil from his palms on the sides of his pants. Laying down some wrench-like tool, he brushes back his hair, leaving a grimy bit of residue that clings in contrast to the purple hue of his forehead. He straightens up and leans in close, so close Keith flinches.“Hey,” Rolo’s breath is colder than expected, but it still tickles pleasantly against his ear, “You wanna go somewhere more private to burn off some of that steam, kid?”





	One Way to Score

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epiproctan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiproctan/gifts).



> I know this is the most random of random crack pairings, but somehow, I tried to make it all fit, and we can only hope it makes some sort of sense. Anyway, I hope you like it Epi, I had a lot of fun discussing our crazy roleithro hc’s, with side of shklance, yum. But will Lance ever get to have any actual fun? Stayed tuned to find out.
> 
>  
> 
> also, this is just filling in the blanks of episode 6 in season 1...and I mean, come on. lbr, we all know this is what really happened

 

“We’ve got a response,” Nyma reports excitedly, fingers gliding over her control panel, “There looks to be about seven lifeforms on board. I’m finally about to break my record here. Good luck, loser.”

 

Her tone is snide, teasing. Rolo has learned long ago not to take it personally, only as a further challenge.

 

“You wish,” he snorts, zooming in on the image of the ship, which is about five times larger than any other shuttle he’s seen pass by this area since they’ve been scoping it out. “Have you forgotten my win on Zolorth? I’m ahead by two points. You’d have to blindside at least four of them to break even.”

 

Nyma bristles, presses on her clutch so that a lever smacks him on the back of his head. Rolo doesn’t know why they even have that lever.

 

“Are you saying that I’m not capable of that? Besides, _you_ seem to have forgotten about the big bang of Cinquarion, where my score went up by ten. So that means I’m at _299_ , _not_ 296.”

 

She motions to Beezer, who beeps at her enthusiastically. They begin to print out a long sheet of paper, which Rolo doesn’t have to look at to know is a list of their current scores. Curse that suck-up hunk of metal.

 

“Alright, alright, that’s true.” Rolo rolls his eyes, rubbing at his sore scalp. “But don’t get too full of yourself. You still need _two_ to get above me.”

 

The ship is close enough now that Rolo can use the scanner to get a visual of who exactly they’re dealing with. His eyes light up in glee when he spots their tiny bodies sporting different colored suits, the ‘v’’s on their outfits unmistakable from the numerous wanted posters he’s seen littering the galaxy.

 

“Holy shit. We’ve lucked out. Those are the paladins of Voltron, Nym! Isn’t there a huge bounty out on those thingamajigs or something?”

 

“ _Lions_ ,” Nyma corrects him with a huff, pulling out her compact mirror to inspect her face. “How the hell do you know they’re paladins of Voltron, but can’t remember the lions?”

 

Rolo clicks his tongue, rapping annoyed fingers against the screen. He doesn’t know what he did to ask for this kind of attitude from her today. “That part doesn’t seem all that important.”

 

Nyma’s response is curt. He can feel her glare from his seat.  “To answer your question though, yes. We’re looking at upwards of at _least_ 400 million GAC here.”

 

“Damn,” Rolo whistles, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms behind his head.

 

Letting his eyes slip shut, he imagines what they could do with that kind of money, how he could finally get his hands on a decent ship to let loose and race amongst the stars the way he’s always intended to. The clunky ship they have now may be intrinsic to their current act, but trading it in for his sleek Sentok Deluxe almost had him in tears. That’s the first thing he’s going to do, he decides. Go back for his baby.

 

He imagines living carefree, too, not having to worry about where to find their next meal or about Nyma’s pressing intergalactic debt.

 

If they manage to pull this off -- which he’s positive in their abilities that they more than will -- she’ll finally be free of her shadowed past. There’s really nothing Rolo wants for her more. She’s basically the kid sister he never had, and the sense of duty he feels to continue protecting her after finding her, abandoned and alone in the rubbled remains of her home planet, is something he doesn’t plan to stop doing anytime soon. Despite her cold, hardened exterior, he knows that deep down, she definitely appreciates it.

 

The screen crackles with static, and he slips open one eye. He can just make out a few figures that catch his interest, pulling him from his other thoughts.

 

Licking his lips, he locks his focus mainly onto the red suited one, whose slumped off to the side away from the others. There’s something about the guarded way it’s standing that fully captivates him.

 

Rolo’s not sure he’s seen this species before, but the skin of it looks smooth, soft and inviting, even from this distance. It’s curious, he’s never gotten a glimpse of something so shockingly pale. The urge to touch to find out if his assumptions are right is almost overpowering.

 

The thick, dark locks of its hair are beautiful, longer than almost all of the others, and framing its pouting face in ways Rolo can’t really put into words. It’s delicate and slim, with no extra limbs, nor scales, feathers, or fur as far as he can make out -- not that he minds those things, really. He isn’t picky by a long shot, but there’s nothing wrong with having certain _preferences_.

 

And dare he say that this creature fits all of them quite well.

 

“Oh, damn.”

 

With another whistle, one more like a catcall, he leans forward to get a better look. He rubs his hands together before he hits the button to give a full, panoramic view. All the monitors come to life simultaneously, beaming a high definition image of the alien’s sulking form on their communication screen.

 

“...We’ve hit the jackpot on so many levels here.”

 

Nyma tuts at him. “Stay focused. You lose sight of this mission and screw up like last time, I will never forgive you. This reward is bigger than you being able to get your rocks off with some stupid, wannabe freedom fighters.”

 

Rolo isn’t particularly deterred by her warning. Instead, he shifts the focus to her, knowing it’s always better to have Nyma a little riled up beforehand. It’s more than helped him get an edge over her in the past.

 

“So...who you aiming for, then?”

 

“Don’t play dumb,” Nyma sniffs, “You know I always let them come to _me_ first.”

 

She’s steadily wrapping her hair into twin ponytails as she pulls faces into the mirror, smiling, practicing batting her lashes. The ornate hair plate she received on Cinquarion as a parting gift gleams amidst the thick tentacles on her scalp.

 

She isn’t giving the screen so much as a passing glance. Her loss, Rolo thinks, eyes drifting and raking over the black suited figure, whose larger, more defined form has him feeling all the more motivated.

 

If he’s being honest, it’s hard to make a decision. The blue suited one with the pretty bronzed skin and sharp blue eyes could easily be another candidate, the one with the more pointed ears and curvier figure -- some other unknown species -- also catches his attention.

 

“Well, they’d have to, wouldn’t they?” Rolo grunts with a shake of his head, tapping the screen so the image dissolves into nothing but a memory he’s more than eager to revisit. He gets the ship prepared in its pre-programmed coordinates for when they have to make a quick getaway.

 

Nyma’s right - he needs to stay on track for this big a haul.  To a certain point, anyway.

 

“...Since you’ve got no actual calculation and finesse in this.”

 

“I don’t _need_ finesse when I have a body like _this_ ,” Nyma hisses between clenched teeth, crossing her arms and tipping up her chin. “In fact, I don’t even need to touch them -- unlike _you_ , who wastes time and puts us in jeopardy getting intimate when it’s not necessary!”

 

Rolo laughs heartily at that. She’s not wrong, but he’ll be damned if he ever apologizes for having a good time. So what if he gets lost in a bit of pleasure from time to time, gets caught up in watching how much he can give pleasure to others, even if he plans to rip them off later? With a life like this, he might as well -- for lack of a better word -- _live_ a little.

 

Nyma’s voice raises an octave, giving the tired, boastful speech Rolo’s heard more than enough for one decafeeb. “They’re all the same no matter what species -- putty in my hands with a few well-placed words and shake of my hips. We’re living in a wonderful universe full of gullible fools. So watch and learn from the master, jerk.”

 

“Yeah, but good tactics _combined_ with a nice body is why I’m winning right now, so,” Rolo lets that hang there. Nyma ignores him, snapping the compact mirror shut with a resolute _click_.

 

“I don’t play to lose,” she shoots back irritably, cocking a hip as she stands. Beezer zooms after her, twittering and beeping, when she starts sashaying towards the hull.

 

Then she’s pressing on the release for the exit ramp before he can get in another word, stepping out to their campsite and sitting down to watch the fancy ship as it angles up to land.

 

And Rolo settles himself beside her, blade of grass poised between his teeth, grinning into the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

 

So Lance ran off with some random alien girl.

 

Her name’s something dumb, like Nimrod or Nina or whatever, but she’s a pretty yellow thing with a conventionally attractive body and a decent amount of curves -- if you’re into that sort of stuff, Keith thinks with a derisive snort.

 

He isn’t sulking about it. He definitely isn’t feeling something churn unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach because of it. Lance is Lance, Keith reminds himself. This is how he is, how he’s always been. Just because he joins him and Shiro, often unabashedly spread open, moaning and clutching at their sheets at least three times a week now, doesn’t mean he has any obligation to not flirt with others.

 

Keith kicks at some rubble, the force of it gyrating a few moon rocks high into the air in a wide arc. They go flying off so close to Pidge that she jumps out of the way, snapping at him to watch it. Her new robot friend matches her yelling with a series of its own disgruntled beeps.

 

Keith merely grunts in response, further hunching his shoulders. Being around them all, listening to their laughter and aimless chatter as they wait for Lance and Nimrod-whatever to return, is grating so harshly on his nerves that he knows if he doesn’t remove himself soon, he’s going to end up exploding on someone.

 

He’s about to go and not-sulk back on the ship, where he can relish being alone, when a heavy hand stops him as it taps against the small of his back. Keith expects Shiro, but it’s that new alien guy, _Rolo_ , grinning slyly with a few strange-looking tools clutched between thick fingers. He waves, and Keith follows the pendulum swing of the tools moving back and forth.

 

Keith’s heart stutters, looking up into Rolo’s calm, half-lidded eyes. His lashes are so much thicker than any human’s he’s ever seen, lining mostly on the bottom of his lids rather than the top. There’s this metallic edge that sits, glistening in his irises, and the curve of his smile is warm, inviting. Keith eyes the small patch of facial hair dotting along his jawline.

 

Overall, he's incredibly attractive. And well, Keith may or may not have been checking out a lot more than that since they first landed.

 

“Yo,” Rolo says, gruff and low, “You look like you could use a moment to cool off. Wanna come with me for a tick? I’m gonna start on these repairs, since big guy keeps shooting me dirty looks. I don’t mind, I could use some company.”

 

Keith hesitates, squinting warily at Rolo. Despite the way his mind screeches at him to not trust someone he doesn’t know so blindly, there’s something about the guy that makes him _feel_ like he knows him, like he’s an old friend rather than a stranger.

 

“Um,” Keith glances at Shiro, who’s immersed in some conversation with Allura and Coran.

 

He _had_ been meaning to get away, and the invitation would be the perfect opportunity to say fuck it and go. Nearby, Hunk won’t stop throwing Rolo suspicious looks, so Keith figures if he keeps an eye on the guy, maybe Hunk will chill out enough to let him spend some time getting to know him.

 

“Keith, right?”

 

Rolo smile widens, a toothy, cheeky thing, and Keith’s barely-held together resolve instantly crumbles. Keith nods, watching with baited breath. He’s a bit surprised to find that Rolo remembers his name after Allura’s brief introduction.

 

Rolo bows from his chest as he tells him how nice it is to meet him. It raises nostalgia in Keith; it’s been ages since he’s seen someone greet him like that, memories flashing back to his first meeting with Shiro at the Garrison. It feels like an equally as long time since someone’s greeted him this kindly, since someone has sensed how agitated he can get without really knowing him.

 

Keith doesn’t want to question it. He tries not to think about how closely Rolo may have been watching him as well, or about what strange extraterrestrial senses he might possess. He feels exposed enough as it is just talking to him.

 

Stiffly, Keith bows back, murmuring a quiet, “Nice to meet you, too. Yeah, uh...why not. Could use some fresher air.”

 

As they make their way over to Rolo’s ship together, Hunk nods to Keith, mouthing the silent message, ‘ _watch him closely_ ’. If only Hunk knew the real reason behind why he’s preferring to stay close to Rolo, he surely wouldn’t be treating him with such camaraderie. It’s a funny thought, and under more normal circumstances, Keith would probably laugh if he wasn’t so wound up.

 

Away from the others, Keith feels like it’s easier to think, to clear his head and steady his breathing. He thinks about _patience yielding focus_ , centers himself when he inhales, exhales in long, even breaths. Rolo gets to work right away, opening a large entrance on the side of the ship that reveals some sort of inner machinations, like an engine. He’s bending down to work at a side panel of it, digging his fingers into the grime and muck of an extremely dirty piece of tubing.

 

The silence is nice, a respite without Lance’s obnoxious voice around, really. That’s what Keith’s trying to convince himself of, anyway. While a breeze smooths over his skin, he allows himself to admit that maybe he’s a _little_ irritated with the way Lance took off without saying anything first, but for reasons he’s not sure he wants to address.

 

Whatever, progress is slow like that. Keith really doesn’t see the need to dwell on it. All in all, this is stupid. Lance isn’t worth getting this worked up about.

 

Keith lets his head fall back against the cool metal of the ship, watching the flex of Rolo’s arm muscles from the corner of his eye.

 

“Stupid Lance and his stupid urge to fuck anything that so much as _smiles_ in his direction,” Keith grumbles to the air, scuffing at the dirt beneath his feet, “I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him when he gets back! I’m gonna wrap my fingers around his neck and just, _ugh_...”

 

Keith lets himself ramble, not paying as much attention to what he’s saying as he is to noting the way that shimmering sweat is dripping steadily down Rolo’s neck, how it’s disappearing between the outline of his highly defined shoulderblades. The clench of his fists is an involuntary reaction, the grit of his teeth when Rolo bends farther forward and raises his ass higher into the air, is not.

 

Rolo turns to him with a smile after a few minutes of patiently listening to him rant, wiping the oil from his palms on the sides of his pants. Laying down some wrench-like tool, he brushes back his hair, leaving a grimy bit of residue that clings in contrast to the purple hue of his forehead. He straightens up (much to Keith’s disappointment) and leans in close, so close Keith flinches.

 

“Hey,” Rolo’s breath is colder than expected, but it still tickles pleasantly against his ear, “You wanna go somewhere more private to burn off some of that steam, kid?”

 

Keith lets his arms drop to his sides, eyes stretching to comically sized saucers. He can’t say he was expecting a response, let alone one like that. From a few feet away, Shiro’s gaze drifts from Allura and fixes itself calmly on the two of them, as if aware of the suggestive turn of the conversation.

 

His tongue struggles to make sense of it all. “I, um, well I -- ”

 

Rolo puts up a hand, ambivalence evident on his face. “Look, I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at me. It’s fine, let’s skip the small talk and get straight to the point - I’d like to fuck the shit out of you, too. So you down, or what?”

 

Keith gulps. His eyes flick back to Shiro, lip caught between his teeth. The seam of his suit is already unbearably tight around his groin, his mouth drier than this wasteland moon’s atmosphere. Shiro’s eyebrows raise in question.

 

“Oh,” Rolo laughs, tilting his head to follow his line of sight. “You get around, huh? Not surprising with a pretty face like yours.” He nudges Keith’s shoulder, smirking in a way that sends shivers down his spine as much as it raises the boiling of blood in his veins. “That’s cool, he can join if he wants.” Rolo waves one hand flippantly. “Er, if _you_ want. Whichever, whatever.”

 

Scowling, Keith crosses his arms again. ‘ _Get around_ ’? Just who does this guy think he is?

 

“W-We’re together, okay?” Keith says defensively, “We’re in a serious relationship, don’t make it sound like I’m just...I’m just hopping from dick to dick here, asshole.”

 

Rolo shrugs, settling back to tinkering with the not-wrench. He tightens a few bolts, fiddles with a few more knobs. There’s a streak of grease splayed over his exposed shoulder that Keith finds he wouldn’t mind licking clean.

 

“I don’t really care how many dicks you hop on, man.” Rolo glances at him over his shoulder, grinning and grinning with one eyebrow raised. Up close like this, his teeth appear to be a lot sharper than Keith’s realized. “Is that -- is that what they call it where you’re from? Having multiple partners is _dick hopping_?”

 

Keith narrows his eyes. “ _Maybe_ ,” he spits, a little more venomously than he means to. He’s not about to waste his time explaining Earth slang to some smooth talking, hot alien guy.

 

Rolo hums, finding a piece of loose panel suddenly very interesting. “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just means more experience in my book. Luckier for me if you wanna have some fun, you know?”

 

Shiro is walking over now. Keith is weighing his options, trying to decide whether Rolo’s cockiness is worth getting angry over or only more of a turn on, when the warm weight of Shiro’s human hand lands on his shoulder.

 

“Everything alright over here?”

 

Shiro looks between them curiously. Rolo snickers into his arm.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Keith reassures him softly, embarrassed. “Everything’s fine.”

 

Shiro doesn’t seem very convinced by the small waver that escapes him, furrowing his brows at Rolo with his lips pressed into a fine line. Although he knows Keith can more than handle himself, he’s repositioning himself firmly between them, aiming a steady warning glare at Rolo. Keith would be a liar if he said that wasn’t making his body feel all the more hotter.

 

“He’s, uh, Rolo just, uh…” Keith clears his throat, shifts his weight. Shiro’s grip tightens on him, frown pushing down on the lines of his face. “He offered to, um…”

 

Open relationship or not, Keith’s never been good at asking to add in someone else to join them in the bedroom. Lance was an exception -- he didn’t play coy at all, loudly and obnoxiously stating exactly how he wanted to worm his way into their sex life to the point Keith hardly needed to ask anything. Everything had been out in the open from the start.

 

At worst, this is unfamiliar territory. At best, the anticipation of what this could possibly lead into sends shivers of raw desire skittering down his spine.

 

Rolo doesn’t turn to address them, only twists harder at the bolt he’s screwing in. “The kid wants to fuck,” he calls Keith out bluntly, “I’m all for it, but I’m guessin’ he was waiting to ask you first.”

 

Shiro makes a strangled noise, hand slipping off his shoulder in what Keith supposes is surprise. Keith refuses to look him in the eye, unsure what he must think about him wanting to shack up with some alien stranger they don’t know anything about.

 

Rolo turns around when he doesn’t get an immediate response from either of them, squatting with his long arms draped over his knees and staring up. “Really, do all you humans tip toe around stuff like this?” He gives a loud, drawn out sigh. “Is there some sort of, uh, like formal set of rules in human courting I should know about or something before we -- or if we -- start?”

 

There’s another pause. Keith thinks about how nice it would be to sink into the cracked earth.

 

“...No, not really,” Shiro finally responds, relaxing enough to share a wry smile with him, “Keith gets a little nervous about these things, don’t mind him.”

 

“I’m _not_ nervous,” Keith defends himself quickly, slumping back against the ship, “He just caught me off guard, is all. Don’t read into it like that, Shiro.”

 

Shiro runs a hand through his hair, heaving his own sigh. Keith sneaks a look at him, and is taken aback to see him continuing to smile gently. Keith can tell he isn’t offended, and in fact, is looking at Rolo with renewed interest. Rolo only grins harder when Shiro clearly checks him out, roving over his form from top to bottom. The hairs on the back of Keith’s neck prickle up.

 

Shiro removes his helmet, cradling it under his arm as he clears his throat, eyes shining with mirth. “Ah, well. There is one thing, I suppose. Usually, in couples on Earth, humans prefer to be  together with only one other person. That’s not the case with us, though. We don’t mind, um. Expanding our, uh. _Relations_.”

 

Pink colors Shiro’s cheeks. Keith’s lips curl up fondly at the way he fumbles to explain the logistics of polyamory. He never would have guessed when he woke up that morning that he’d be in this situation, listening to Shiro struggling to talk about human sexuality with an alien that’s apparently offering to fuck them both silly.

 

Rolo eyes them for a second. It looks like he’s piecing something together slowly. Keith is about to open his mouth to say something, anything that might derail him, but understanding hits Rolo after a moment, causing his eyebrows to furrow.

 

“The blue one, too, huh?” Rolo asks softly, dropping his smug inflection. He isn’t looking at Shiro, is only staring right at Keith with something disgustingly akin to pity. Keith is beginning to regret venting to him about Lance. “That’s rough, buddy. It’s unfortunate, but I’ll tell you, this is just how it is. Nyma’s always getting in between people wherever we go. I can’t stop it, but I am sorry.”

 

The way he says it stirs something deep in Keith’s chest. As much as it warms him, rattles him, he’s not sure if he likes the feeling or not.

 

Shiro chuckles, smoothing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Lance joins us sometimes. He isn’t one to stick to any single person, either. I don’t really mind it, but Keith...”

 

Shiro turns to him, apologetic. He leans in so Rolo can’t hear him, flesh hand ghosting across Keith’s jawline. “I’m sorry, Keith. I know it’s frustrating, but you can’t do anything. None of this with him was a commitment to begin with. We can talk about it again later if it’s bothering you, okay? All of us, together.”

 

Keith doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to think about Lance at all right now, about the ways he and Nyma might be touching each other as intimately as he and Shiro touch him, late at night in the quiet darkness of their rooms. He doesn’t want to think about how pretty Nyma, and not him, might be pulling out all those tiny whimpers, those desperate pleas for more that he’s grown so used to hearing.

 

In this moment, Keith really only wants to feel Shiro’s -- and hell, if Lance is going to run off with someone else, then why not Rolo’s? -- hands upon him.

 

Keith puffs out his cheeks, chest deflating. “It’s whatever. He can go suck one hundred dicks and eat out a thousand alien pussies for all I care. It’s not like he belongs to us,” Keith mutters back under his breath. Shiro only shakes his head, the subtle concern never leaving his face. Keith is thankful that he doesn’t press it, although he knows he’ll be bringing it back up eventually once they’re alone.

 

Maybe feeling left out of the loop, Rolo draws closer, so he’s more in between them. Shiro moves aside, lets him push his way through without protest, but he doesn’t let his eyes fall away from Rolo for a second.

 

That cold breath hangs, plays softly against the shell of Keith’s ear when Rolo speaks. “Ah, you’re mad. Jealous. I get it.”

 

Keith wants to tell him that he doesn’t know shit, that he could care less what stupid Lance does with his stupid hormones, but the pleasant hum against his skin is far past distracting.

 

“Don’t worry. I can help you forget, if you want.” Rolo’s wide fingers reach out to draw a line down his arm, from elbow to wrist, testing. Keith feels, more than hears, the deep laugh that rumbles against his eardrum. “Fuck that guy, yeah? Let’s relax, have some fun.”

 

Rolo’s hand lingers, brushing down and down, until it’s lightly resting on Keith’s thigh. It’s making enough contact below his armor that he can feel it, but the pressure is so faint it only has him craving more. The way Rolo speaks is nice, so low and pleasant to his ears, like Keith could trust him to the ends of the universe somehow no matter what he says. His hand is thicker, heavier than even Shiro’s prosthetic. Keith’s breath hitches in anticipation of how much better it would feel against his bare skin.

 

Noticing the suggestive touch between them, Shiro’s eyes spark, silently asking Keith with them if it’s okay, if this is fine for them to dive into. He’s nodding to Keith with a kind smile that hits his eyes, lights up his whole face with that soft glow that has Keith forgetting what he’s even been so angry about in the first place.

 

He loves Shiro. He would love to fuck Rolo. And maybe, at some level, he's aware that he deserves to feel this, that it's okay to let loose during such a stressful time in his life.

 

Keith lets the tension in his shoulders slide out bit by bit, a cocksure grin tugging up his cheeks.

 

He can only imagine what Lance will say when he hears about _this_.

 

Shiro stares off towards Allura, Coran, Pidge, and Hunk, who are all preoccupied with their various tasks in the distance. None of them are bothering to pay them any attention.

 

“I’d like to,” Shiro shrugs, turning back to Rolo with that smile that always gets Keith’s heart thrumming wildly. Keith wonders if it’s affecting Rolo at all in the same way, wonders if his species even has a similar organ to feel something like that. “I think we have time since we’re waiting on Lance, anyway. I mean, if this is all okay with Keith, then I’m in.”

 

They both turn towards Keith. He doesn’t hesitate when the answer has been on the tip of his tongue since the moment he stepped off the ship.

 

* * *

 

 

So Nyma’s going to kill him, probably.

 

Oh well. Rolo supposes he better make good use of his time, then.

 

It took some extra convincing for the big guy to get his fellow teammates alone, but Rolo finds out that the black suited one -- Shira? No, Shir _o_ , he thinks --  is an incredibly gifted sweet talker himself. If they had more time, he’d probably be asking him a thing or two to help with his more diplomatic approaches.

 

Leading them onto his ship, Rolo’s quick to turn them down the hall, away from the main control room where something that might give them away could be out. Now on more even ground, he can tell that the red one -- _Keith_ , there’s no forgetting that strange name -- is at least a good head or so shorter than him. It’s startling, because by the way he’s been talking and carrying himself, Rolo’s been under the impression he was taller.

 

Neither of them speak as Rolo guides them towards his bedroom, as he opens the door and gestures for them to go in first. Rolo is thankful for that. His last win was much too talkative and chipper for his liking, and this is just the right amount of impersonal that he’s comfortable with.

 

“So,” Rolo drawls, pivoting around to face them after he shuts the door, “What are you two in--”

 

His back is hitting the wall roughly before he can even choke out another syllable, spine pressed flat against it so hard and fast the wind is about knocked out of him. A flash of black and red pins him against the door, firmly locking a knee between his legs. There’s so much pressure sticking him in place, an impressive amount of strength he didn’t know someone that small and seemingly delicate was capable of. The eyes that stare up at him through thick locks of curling hair are calculating, pooled darker with a hint of something dangerous that doesn’t seem half as welcoming as earlier.

 

Rolo finds himself only capable of blinking back in surprise. Humans have sharp, sharp, little claw-like nails that apparently they like to dig into unsuspecting stranger’s arms.

 

At first, his instincts almost kick into taking action, afraid he may have been conned himself. But then there are lips covering his before Rolo can give any exclamation or reach for a weapon, so soft and wet, with a hint of something wonderfully bitter and intoxicating that simmers pleasantly on his tastebuds.

 

The scent of Keith is heady, like smoke and the distinct sweetness of musk and sweat, all burnt embers of wood after a raging fire. Fine, light hands waste no time in knocking off his hat, tangling into his hair, spinning his head in about a thousand different directions at once.

 

Things blur together. There’s so much heat, so much feeling boiling over the surface of every place that Keith touches. Something slick and equally as warm pushes its way into his mouth, which Rolo grunts at even as he starts moving back after the initial shock wears off. It’s a rude gesture in his culture, but not the first time a lifeform has tried this -- this strange use of tongue in a place he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to.

 

It isn’t rough though, like the last guy -- there’s no slimy raised pads or scratchy texture to it. It’s smooth and slides over his expertly. Keith hums into the sloppy kiss, angling his head more to the side.

 

When Rolo makes a testing swoop of his own tongue against him, Keith makes this peculiar sort of whimper. Rolo lets his hands drift to Keith’s hips, grinding their crotches together as he pulls him tighter into his chest.

 

The action earns him another nice whimper, this one higher-pitched. Needier. Oh, he can more than work with this level of sensitivity.

 

The sudden loss of being full, of feeling like every inch of him is on fire when Keith moves to worry one of his earlobes between his teeth, almost has Rolo reeling back. Cool air hits his burning, tingling lips. If not for the wall there, he imagines how this would feel with Keith above him, his back on the floor with maybe his wrists pinned to his sides. It’s obvious he wouldn’t be standing at this point otherwise.

 

“G-geez, kid. You tryin’ to kill me here?” Rolo chuckles, the bow of his weak knees something he can’t say he’s experienced so early on in foreplay before.

 

Keith tongues Rolo’s earring for a few staggered pulses of his heartbeat, clearly enjoying the sensation of metal between those pliant lips. Rolo steadies himself with one hand on the wall, inhaling one large, shaking breath after the next while Keith continues sucking and biting a wet path down his neck.

 

“‘M _not_ a kid,” Keith grumbles into his skin, tugging him forward by his vest, and there goes his attempts at keeping any sort of balance. “Quit calling me that. I’m nearly twenty years old.”

 

Shiro comes into his line of sight again as Keith drags him by, albeit a little blurry around the edges. Rolo almost forgot he was there, since he’s been observing them more as if they were part of some research experiment rather than as someone who’s about to get involved. Rolo’s already way past impressed with both of their devious behavior and dynamic. He can tell he’s in for one wild ride.

 

Shiro _is_ at least looking halfway apologetic, smile stretching wide like none of this surprises him at all. Where Keith is all impulsivity and flying by the seat of his pants, Shiro seems to be the kind of guy who plans ahead, is more reserved. He’s been using the time alone to quietly undress himself, because he’s down to this skintight black one-piece now, which, Rolo hadn’t realized all of them must have been wearing under their armor.

 

“Is that, uh,” Rolo’s mouth quirks up, letting Keith spin him around and push him onto his bed. “Is that, like, considered old for your species or something? Cause I’ll say, you don’t look it, sweetheart.”

 

Rolo remains seated, though by the perturbed look on Keith’s face, it’s apparent he was hoping that he’d used enough force to knock him onto his back. Rolo may have been indulging him too much by letting Keith take the reigns in his cute dominant display earlier. He wants to get across that he isn’t as easily pushed around as this guy may think.

 

Keith frowns down at him, surging forward to straddle his thighs. It’s the first Rolo’s gotten a second to really take in what’s going on, and he notices that Keith’s skin is changing colors. There’s a splatter of pink creeping over his pale cheeks that wasn’t there before. Rolo briefly wonders if that’s normal.

 

Keith places one hand on his hip, jabs a finger into Rolo’s chest. Keith’s breath is shockingly warm as it puffs out against his lips. Rolo can’t help but laugh. This guy thinks he’s really something, alright.

 

“Yeah, it means that I’m old enough to handle myself and tell you to shut up.” Keith’s practically growling through his words, feral and uninhibited, mouth thin-pressed into a sneer. Rolo finds that that’s a turn-on he didn’t know he previously had. “So don’t call me sweetheart either, fuckface.”

 

Shiro decides this must be his cue to step in, finally. He’s wrangled the suit to around his waist, exposing a broad expanse of chest littered in deep, angry scars and fine bits of curling hair. Rolo has to keep himself from gasping; one of his arms is a clear prosthetic -- robotic, much like his own, but clearly more high-tech. Those sympathetic words Shiro spoke to him when Rolo had shown them all his leg earlier, suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.

 

Shiro lands his flesh hand in Keith’s hair, stringing his fingers through it. “Keith, tone it back a notch. We don’t know if he likes this sort of thing or not yet. We can’t just toss him around and berate him, this isn’t La…”

 

Keith is turning that sharp gaze at Shiro, relinquishing some of the squeezing pressure around Rolo’s thighs. Rolo sits up straighter, idly running one palm along Keith’s jutting hipbone, which he can’t help but touch. He feels like his grin might split his face.

 

“We just, we don’t know,” Shiro catches himself, easing his hands in front of him. A peace offering, Rolo thinks. “Okay?”

 

In the blink of an eye, they’re kissing, tenderly, deeply. Shiro’s curling his prosthetic hand around the back of Keith’s neck to pull him close, though he hesitates while doing it, grip loose and barely making contact.

 

He tucks some hair behind Keith’s ear with the other. Keith doesn’t shove his tongue down Shiro’s throat like he did to him, from what Rolo can tell. They’re only moving their lips over each other, practiced, unhurried. It looks far more intimate that Rolo feels like it’s appropriate for him to be spying on.

 

The way Keith responds to all of it is something Rolo can’t quite put a name to. He can best describe it as all that wound up fury visibly sliding off of him, of maybe some shame giving way through his rough exterior. A moment of clarity, even.

 

The dangerous spark behind his eyes dims, as if Shiro’s somehow responsible for bringing him back to his senses. When they part, Keith’s smiling softly, hair unfurling low over one eye. For as small as it is, it sure gives a powerful impression, lighting up the rest of his face to the point a pretty glow settles over his skin. Rolo shifts uncomfortably.

 

Keith licks his lips, looking like it’s taking all his restraint to not let loose and get his hands on them.

 

“...yeah. You’re right, Shiro. I probably should have asked first.” His eyes flicker back to Rolo, still dark, but with less of that wild lick to it. He shuffles his feet. “Sorry, sometimes I get...carried away.”

 

Without really thinking, Rolo reaches up to cup Keith’s chin. He’s almost expecting him to pull away, but Keith only raises an eyebrow. He’s radiating such intense heat, absolutely scorching against his temperate palm. Rolo contemplates if it’s possible Keith could burn him if he gets any more worked up.

 

“Hey,” the softness that eases into his own voice even surprises himself, “You can tell me to shut up all you want. I like a guy with a fresh mouth on him.” Brushing farther up over his lips, which are puffier than before and also morphing into a darker color, Rolo’s pleased to find one of his fingers covers the entire lower half of Keith’s face, no problem. “Do whatever you like if it makes you happy.”

 

The color deepens on Keith’s face, more rouged like he’s seen in the bases of the trees within the forests of Moldive, like the breathtaking sunsets over his home planet that he remembers watching as a kid. Rolo hopes the guy isn’t dying.

 

“I mean, I did invite you to blow off some steam,” Rolo pats the bed, shrugging, “And man, do you have some serious energy there, huh? It’s impressive, I like it.”

 

Rolo smirks, letting his knees fall to the side as he leans back on his palms, tips his chin up. He’s reminded of the fact that he’s wearing way too much clothing, the tightness over his groin increasing tenfold with how both of their eyes are hot on him now. The cheap, gritty fabric of his pants chafes unbearably over his cock, which is wriggling in impatient anticipation against the seams.

 

Hell, they’re all wearing too much, and he hopes at least one of them has the common sense to strip completely. He’s curious to see if they’re hiding other bizarre colors and secrets underneath their remaining barriers.

 

Rolo winks, eyes never leaving Keith. “Just be yourself. I’ll tell you if it’s something I hate, trust me.”

 

Shiro nods in confirmation. Only after nudging Keith, does he respond with a hoarse, “O-okay.”

 

“Great,” Rolo says, dropping his caresses down to the curve of Keith’s ass, squeezing gently. Keith’s hips twitch towards him. Rolo fists the spandex stretched across his torso, tugging him down to his level, and presses his lips against the shell of Keith’s ear. “Now, why don’t you show me what you’re made of, Red.”

 

Keith purses his lips, pushing back into Rolo’s touch. He opens his mouth, then closes it a few times, apparently unable to conjure a comeback for that one. Rolo stifles a laugh, because, fuck. That’s cute.

 

They both continue staring at him, like they don’t know where to go from there. The only action going on is Keith subtly rocking with every squeeze of Rolo’s hand, breathing becoming more and more laboured.

 

Well, if they don’t want to make the next move, he’s more than happy to begin.

 

Humans have way too many reservations about things, Rolo concludes. Honestly, he likes Keith better when he lets that weird inhibition go. He’s wondering if there’s anything he can do to ignite that spark back in him, what might get Shiro to let loose a little. That one seems way too uptight for his own good, the complete opposite of the other in some aspects.

 

Rolo thinks about what could have brought these particular contrasting personalities together. He quickly tries to shake the intrusive thought away, but it settles in enough to have him feeling in unfamiliar emotional territory. It’s really none of his business.

 

Clothes -- yes. Clothes need to go.

 

Keith tilts his head while he watches Rolo remove his belt and tunic swiftly, sliding his pants off and tossing them somewhere onto the floor. He shrugs the vest from his shoulders. He doesn’t bother with the plates on his arms or the bandages hiding his numerous scars, though he glances at his wristband for any sign of a signal from Nyma.

 

He prays to anything that might be out there that he won’t be interrupted until this is all over. For once, he’s hoping Nyma is breaching her rules and having some fun with her own win, as much as thinking that bothers him for some reason.

 

Catching on, Shiro takes the moment to remove the rest of his uniform. Rolo feels more alarmed to see that while most of him is about as pale as Keith, his skin is differently colored around

his groin, around the area it doesn’t take a genius to figure out is the human equivalent of sexual genitalia. They aren’t too different in terms of anatomy, but there’s that strange dusting of fur on his groin too, thicker and curlier than what’s on his chest. A light pink covers most of the organ, which is plumper and smoother than he’s used to, but he can’t believe they almost match in the blotches of purple he can see in the flush of its tip. It’s stiff, appears to be non-prehensile, and curved towards his navel.

 

Rolo eyes it eagerly. He’s tempted to touch it, but he’d rather they do things in some sort of order or nothing will ever get done at this rate.

 

That leaves only Keith, struggling with the armored plate of his chest. He pops it off so fast Rolo’s surprised he doesn’t topple over. It’s like he’s afraid of missing even one tick of any of the action going on.

 

“Heh, see something you like, _kid_?”

 

Rolo sighs as soothing air slides over his blistering skin, somewhat dulling the ache of his erection. Opening his legs wide, eyes glued to Keith, it’s a subtle provocation -- one which works all too easily. Those flames rise right back where he likes them.

 

Keith lowers himself to his knees without a word, thick brows drawn low as Rolo’s seen them yet. Rolo imagines that tiny, soft mouth around him. He imagines feeling those sharp nails digging into his thighs, imagines those needy whimpers playing against his skin.

 

But, Keith doesn’t give him the satisfaction of either fantasy. He presses his lips together, and while staring up through the thick of his lashes, plants them at the base of Rolo’s prosthetic instead.

 

Shiro gives a small laugh, covering his smile with his hand, like this is some shared inside joke between them. Rolo’s eyes widen, feeling a little betrayed by the sympathetic twitch of his cock at such a non-sexual gesture. He doesn’t understand what the point of this is -- an Earth custom, maybe? The equivalent of saying ‘fuck you’ to someone?

 

Keith wraps petite fingers around his ankle, and what Rolo would give to have any pressure sensitivity left on this part of him. Inching his lips up slowly, Keith never once breaks eye contact, sucking and licking so lewdly at the metal joints that the air is filled with the sound of it, his lips very purposefully smacking wet and heavy.

 

Shiro kneels behind Keith while he works at whatever point he’s trying to get across, and unzips the back of Keith’s uniform, which his hands disappear inside of shortly after.

 

This shouldn’t be turning him on more, Rolo thinks, leaning heavily back on his hands. This shouldn’t be slicking up the sensitive ridges lining his cock the way that only hands on stimulation has done to him in the past.

 

There’s the squelch of something else, too, he’s noticing as Keith lets out a few sharp exhales. Shiro’s working his hands near Keith’s groin, as Rolo can make out the added bulge of his fist underneath the spandex, his flesh arm shaking in large, pulsing movements. Keith’s lips slide from the joint of his knee, breaking the convincing illusion that Rolo was almost beginning to feel the warmth of sensation again, like that of phantom feeling returning.

 

That’s insane, he thinks, shaking a little as the remnants of memory, of lips dragging over metal  fades out and leaves him practically gasping for air. His breathing is far past erratic. He hasn’t felt something like this in over a decafeeb.

 

“Shiro, christ, give me some warning,” Keith whimpers, searching blindly for the end of the sheet draping off the bed.

 

When his fingers find the hem, they clench tightly into the material, and then he’s finely arching his back. His other hand releases Rolo’s ankle and trails up to settle on his inner thigh, splaying his fingers wide as they trace over the dots that pattern his skin. Real feeling hits Rolo, one that’s less confusing and isn’t twisting his stomach into knots in nearly the same way.

 

Shiro’s eyes hint with a little more cruelty than usual. “Go ahead, tell him what you _really_ want, Keith. He’s not a mind reader.”

 

Humorously enough, Shiro cocks his head at Rolo, as if to make sure. Rolo manages a tiny smile as he shakes his head in confirmation that he surely doesn’t possess any such qualities. Keith, thankfully, is entirely oblivious to the exchange.

 

“I-I want,” Keith’s breathing is tumbling ragged out between the slight crack in his lips, “I want you to-to use it on me, please.”

 

There’s the smallest ghost of a smirk on the side of Shiro’s face that isn’t buried into Keith’s neck or obscured by thick hair, where he’s been nibbling and mouthing along. Rolo’s unsure if he understands exactly what the guy wants.

 

“Use it..?” Rolo asks, breath hitching at the way Keith’s eyes flutter open and closed in time with the caress of hot, deft fingers over his skin. The color is deepening across his cheeks, so cherry red now that he looks close to passing out. Shiro is about matching him in hue, and mottling equally as dark marks into the jutting dip of Keith’s collarbone.

 

Rolo pauses to admire the view. They’re both breathtakingly beautiful.

 

Shiro does something in his suit that has Keith falling into him without warning, and Rolo catches him by the shoulders. Panting into his thigh, Keith opens his mouth and bites down on the skin there, _hard_.

 

“Fuck,” Rolo groans, head snapping back when Keith wraps those elegant fingers around the swell of his erection, tugging up his length unexpectedly at about the same time.

 

Intense pressure engulfs him on all sides, Keith’s pace jerking and uneven in his hurry. Rolo’s cock wraps about as tightly between the crack of his fingers, the thinnest part of it snaking around Keith’s wrist.

 

Keith looks mildly surprised by how easily his hands move along from the slickness that’s already coating the pads lining it, though not as surprised as Rolo thinks he probably should be at the differences in their erections. Through the heat of the pleasure of it all, Rolo wonders if this isn’t his first interspecies encounter, or if he’s just one of _those_ lays.

 

Keith’s hips are jerking back and forth, in time with whatever Shiro’s doing, looking far too full of himself when he’s literally sandwiched between them.

 

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro reminds him, managing to pop Keith’s unoccupied arm free from the confines of his sleeve. Rolo finally gets a nice view of Shiro running his metal fingers along Keith’s newly exposed side, a nice contrast of silver against pale, sweat slicked flesh.

 

“Your-your leg, your foot.” Keith looks up to him, pleading. “Can you...can you touch me with it?”

 

Shiro removes his hand, ridding Keith of his other sleeve while Keith curses protests. He looks almost in physical pain as he stares, sucking his lower lip between his teeth while he waits for Rolo to respond.

 

Mouth dry, Rolo nods. It’s the weirdest request he thinks he’s ever gotten during sex, but he obliges Keith, all the same. He’s pretty sure he isn’t capable of saying no to this guy even if he tried.

 

Gingerly, while threading a hand into Keith’s hair, Rolo lowers the heel of his foot down to the area that’s stretched taut over Keith’s groin. He’s never used his prosthetic for pleasure, always found the thing to be more than cumbersome, too clunky and stiff when trying to get into certain positions during sex.

 

He and Nyma had been saving up gradually over the last of their raids to get him a more state-of-the-art prosthetic, but found that there were few doctors out there willing to harbour fugitive bounty hunters hiding from the Galra, let alone work on them, no matter the price offered.

 

Rolo swallows thickly as he watches his own leg, a mismatched mess of cheap bits of metal and plastic, rubbing at the twitching bulge between Keith’s spread thighs as gently as he can manage. He can’t help but recall how a few times, he’d even accidentally hurt people whenever he lost himself in orgasm. To say he’s hesitant to have it close to such a sensitive area would be an understatement.

 

But Keith moans when it makes contact, a rich, throaty thing punctuated by lilting gasps. He begs him to push harder before he leans forward, swiping his tongue along the underside of Rolo’s cock. He’s parting his swollen lips and tugging him between them eagerly without another word, and Rolo’s fingers tighten in his hair as he grinds down his heel once again.

 

Screwing his eyes shut, Rolo almost expects a pained cry, for one of them to tell him to stop and say he fucked up, but both seem to be only losing themselves more and more. At the strong vibration of Keith moaning around him, he feels at ease enough to crack open his eyes.

 

Shiro’s left Keith's suit hanging around his hips, outlining the sloping curve of them Rolo wasn’t able to see before with all that armour on. Keith bucks wildly into the pressure on his foot. Rolo’s cock prods as far as it can manage without choking Keith, trying to keep from spasming too much in his mouth when Keith swallows around him.

 

No longer busy trying to remove Keith’s clothes, Shiro stands and leans over him so he can press his mouth to Rolo’s.

 

Kissing Shiro is nothing like kissing Keith. Where Keith is all bruising force and frenzied pace, Shiro takes his time, breathing him in as their lips slide leisurely together. His teeth don’t feel nearly as sharp when they yank on his bottom lip and pull it between them. Still, his lips are rougher, drier. When Shiro parts his mouth to push his tongue in, it seems more of a question of permission rather than being sure of what he wants.

 

Rolo lets him in, not as shocked now that he knows humans are very into using this part of them like this. Around him, Keith swallows again, crude slurping sounds escaping him as he bobs up and down. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the damp heat of two equally as skilled mouths working as if they know him all too well.

 

Rolo’s hands leave Keith’s hair to explore the curves of Shiro’s body, tracing over scar after scar on his chest. There’s a slight tremble of his frame, a weird flinch back when Rolo dares to get closer to the bigger one that coils around where his amputation must begin, near the top of his prosthetic. His fingers are sympathetic, more than he’s thought they would be, feather-light and careful around the marks as Shiro allows it. It raises something white hot and unfamiliar in Rolo to see them like this on someone else, to be reminded of the great evil the Galra have been, are, and always will be.

 

This isn’t exactly the emotional investment he signed up for when he thought he’d just be scoring another line on Beezer’s tally tonight, but in truth, he can’t find it in himself to complain.

 

Shiro moans into his mouth all the same, pressing up as close as he can manage with Keith caught between them.

 

Rolo pulls away only to get a better look at Shiro, trying to steady his breathing with the way Keith pushes himself farther, harder down. Rolo’s long since forgotten to keep much of a rhythm with his foot on Keith, distracted by Shiro’s skin. He remembers to give a few short pulses, which earns him the sensation of the thinnest end of his cock hitting the back of Keith’s throat. Keith audibly gags, but doesn’t let up, digging those sharp nails into Rolo’s thighs for purchase.

 

Through the fog of his vision, Rolo’s attention is drawn to the two erect dots that are symmetrically laid out on Shiro’s chest, that stand pinker and different from his skin. Rolo can tell it probably isn’t scar tissue. One quick look down -- which, bad idea he thinks, biting back a groan at the sight of Keith with watering eyes and hollowed cheeks -- confirms that Keith has these things as well.

 

Rolo reaches for one, flicking it curiously. It’s swollen and hard to the touch.

 

“Are, um,” Rolo hums along Shiro’s skin, nuzzling into the crook of his neck so he can better pinch a good bit of it between his teeth, “Does touching these things feel good for you guys?”

 

He finds he doesn’t really have to ask. Pinching one of them between two fingers, the raised nub dwarfed between their thickness, Shiro shudders and groans. His hips snap forward, almost tumbling into Rolo’s lap if it weren’t for Keith’s head separating them.

 

“Heh, cute,” Rolo murmurs, sinking his teeth into the dewy skin where Shiro’s neck curves towards the dip of his shoulder, and gives a tentative thrust into the wet heat of Keith’s mouth. It's a little embarrassing how close he is already.

 

Unfortunately, Keith takes that as his cue to ease back, like he has all the time in the universe. The blunt edge of his teeth catches over a ridge on Rolo’s cock that has him grappling at the sheets, and then there’s nothing but way too much air and that fine edge of almost-ecstasy. Rolo’s chest heaves in irritation of being robbed of his orgasm. Shiro appears to be trying to steady his own breathing and mostly failing, leaning on Keith for support with his hands landing on his shoulders.

 

Keith scrunches his nose before blowing his bangs away from his eyes. There’s thick globs of secretion coating wherever he’s touched Rolo, clinging most heavily on his lips. He swipes one palm across them, testing the consistency as he strings some of the clear liquid between his fingers.

 

“What the hell is this stuff?” He huffs, like he didn’t just spend the last however-many-ticks probably ingesting a good deal of it, “It feels weird. My mouth is kinda numb.” Keith licks his messy fingertips, crudely popping one digit in after another. “Not bad numb, but. Like a good numb, I guess.”

 

Rolo tilts his head, drawing himself back to the middle of the bed, where hopefully they can change positions and maybe get this show on the road.

 

“It’s secretion pad lubrication, obviously. Did you not notice them?” Rolo says, unable to keep the snarky tone from leaving his lips as he gestures to the raised pads on the underside of his cock. His cock twitches and coils around his thigh, rubbing to keep some friction going.

 

Keith only stares blankly in response, forehead creasing. He seems a bit too dazed to form coherent words, but that’s probably more from the numbing and relaxation agent making quick work through his bloodstream.

 

Rolo laughs. “Huh. I guess you humans aren’t as observant as I thought.”

 

Keith rises in a flash, looking like he’s about to go for his throat, before Shiro stops him by wrapping his prosthetic arm loosely around his waist. Rolo’s fairly disappointed he didn’t let Keith have at him.

 

“You’re one to talk, you have a fucking tentacle for a di--” Shiro claps a hand onto Keith’s mouth, although he seems equally as confused, pointedly looking at Rolo like he’s just grown several extra limbs. Rolo’s cock perks up in interest at the insinuation -- so he’s dealing with _that_ kind of anatomy.

 

“Oh.” He beckons Keith forward with a finger, enjoying the way he flushes more of that pretty red. “You guys don’t have self-lubrication, do you? That’s perfect. I’ve been waiting to have this kind of fun for a long, long time.” Rolo pats his lap. “Come here, Red.”

 

Surprisingly, Keith doesn't protest. Shiro divests him of the rest of his uniform, and Rolo watches as he shuffles out of it, the weight of his erection bouncing against his belly when it pops free. Propping himself up on the bed, he slinks obediently towards Rolo on his hands and knees.

 

“Shiro,” Rolo calls as Keith crawls into his lap, subdued, waiting for his next direction. “Hold him still and open for me, will you?”

 

Rolo feels Keith tremble as he grabs both of his wrists and pins them to either side of his thighs, forcing Keith onto his hands and knees. His back arches involuntarily, and he glances back at Shiro right as Shiro moves forward to spread him open.

 

“Shit,” Keith exclaims with a gasp, lowering his hips so he can rub against Rolo. Rolo lets his cock snake out and run up over the length of Keith’s.

 

Keith shudders, hunching his shoulders and thrusting as the thicker part of Rolo’s cock curls around the base of his own to stroke at an agonizingly slow pace.

  
“How badly do you want it?” Rolo laughs, sinking his teeth into Keith’s neck. He uncurls himself, letting the tip of his cock inch along towards Keith’s balls, leaving a trail of slick along the way. Behind Keith, Shiro is clenching his fingers, digging them into Keith’s ass. He’s wetting his lips, expression far past strained.

 

“Tell me, Red,” Rolo trails the tip of his cock so that it smacks lightly against one of Keith's cheeks, “You're desperate for it, aren't you?”

 

“Just...just....” Keith throws his head back in frustration, canting his hips as Rolo traces underneath his balls and then flicks the tip around the small hole it runs into. Keith’s eyes are narrowed when he returns his searing gaze back to Rolo. “Just fucking do it already.”

 

Rolo circles around the tiny entrance, letting the lubrication drip and roll in thick, viscous amounts to cover it. He can feel the hole twitch, can feel it resist and clench somewhat when he prods the thin end of his cock the barest amount into it. The heat of Keith is tempting, inviting.

 

Rolo laughs, covering Keith’s sweet lips with his own, and pushes himself inside. All too responsive, Keith moans into his mouth, pulling Rolo’s lower lip between his teeth and hissing when Rolo thrusts in, and then out shallowly. Rolo’s hands drift to Keith’s backside and cover over Shiro’s much smaller ones, and with a self-satisfied grin, he spreads Keith wider and pushes his cock until he feels Keith breach the beginning of the thicker part of it.

 

“How are you feeling?” Rolo pulls away to ask, fingers traveling of their own accord to flip a piece of stray hair from Keith’s eyes.

 

He gives Keith a moment to adjust. Keith groans, rocking his hips down to accommodate more of the thicker part of Rolo’s cock, greedy to be stretched to the brim. Rolo tries his best to restrain himself from cumming as he lets Keith set the pace to slowly sink down on him. Keith’s baring down enough around him so that every time he moves, he squeezes Rolo in a way that has him barely coherent of what to do next.

 

“You still okay, Keith?” Shiro prompts in Rolo’s place, sensing how difficult it is for him to talk when Keith’s beautifully flushed and so perfect above him. One of Shiro’s hands shifts higher, rubbing gently at the small of Keith’s back in order to get him to relax. Some of the pressure around Rolo’s cock lessens.

 

“I’m g-good,” Keith whimpers quietly, baring his neck to Shiro as Rolo spreads his cheeks wider for Shiro to get a good view. Keith’s fingers are clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Shit. Really good. I’m-I feel so warm...It’s so wet and...moving...ah, fuck...”

 

“Alright, good,” Rolo gives him a squeeze, letting his cock twitch and then wriggle itself further up until Keith cries out. “I’m gonna put it all the way in now, then. I’m sorry, it might feel a little strange at first, but I promise you, you’ll warm up to it.”

 

Keith barely has the sense about him to nod, beads of sweat rolling from his chin down to his neck. Shiro must have had enough of observing, because as Rolo shifts to fully bury himself into Keith, he feels a new pressure against his cock as one of Shiro’s metal fingers worms its way inside.

 

“Shiro!” Keith lurches forward, and Rolo lets himself fall completely onto his back. The shock of the cold and the sensation of Keith being even tighter around him instantly has a loud moan spilling from his lips.

 

The finger wriggles, easily sliding in with all the slick, causing both of them to gasp against each other’s lips as Keith is pressed flat to Rolo’s chest. Rolo’s senses are overwhelmed with sensation, the feeling of Keith’s scalding skin and the softness of his lips a sharp contrast to Shiro’s finger, cool and hard as it pushes against his cock.

 

“Rolo, can I..?”

 

It’s then that Rolo notices Shiro is jerking himself with his flesh hand, eyeing where Rolo’s spread his thighs out of instinct. Keith hits the base of his cock at around the same time, and Rolo can barely comprehend what words leave his mouth in response, but he vaguely recalls later that they might have been something like, “God, please, _yes_.”

 

Things meld and spin together once Shiro eases into him, much too slowly and carefully than Rolo’s used to, asking how he needs to be prepared in the process. His metal fingers leave Keith with a lewd squelch and enter him just as easily, curling in so unexpectedly that a shock runs through Rolo that transfers straight to Keith, causing both of them to writhe and groan against each other.

 

Rolo is barely into explaining the logistics of self-lubrication and that he’s already ready, he’s _been_ ready --  before finally, _finally_ , Shiro is inside of him.

 

Keith groans when Shiro stalls, flush against his back. For a moment, they all pause, giving into the feeling of being so unbelievably, satisfyingly _full_.

 

Rolo’s plunged into a world in which there is only pleasure, only the feeling of endless soft skin and lips sucking, biting at his neck. A world in which he’s only aware of flesh slapping against him, building up from a slow pace, to jarringly fast in what seems like ticks flat.

 

Shiro slams his eyes shut when he thrusts harder, when he wrenches Rolo’s thighs up by hooking his elbows underneath his knees. His cock is the perfect length, just thick enough to stretch him to a pleasant ache, and he hits a spot inside Rolo that has his own cock wriggling, pistoning up into Keith, who’s transcended above the realm of being able to say much of anything except screaming wantonly above him.

 

Regardless of the force Shiro uses to yank him up, he’s still careful with his leg, making sure to grasp his thigh, above where his prosthetic starts. He lifts the heavy thing without any issue at all. The change in angle has Rolo moving like lightning, letting his cock swirl and feeling it swell as he rises towards climax. It’s further spreading Keith, who scrambles to hold onto Rolo’s arms, digging his nails in tight.

 

“I just wanna, I just wanna,” Keith gasps, dropping himself up and down at an erratic rate, “I just wanna _cum_ , Shiro, Rolo, let me cum, please, _please_ \--”

 

Shiro uses his position to wrap his arms around them both, bending Rolo’s legs at nearly a 90 degree angle and reaching around to hold onto Keith’s waist. He’s doing something -- it looks like he’s helping Keith keep moving, encouraging him as he’s beginning to tire. His metal fingers curl around Keith’s swollen cock, stroking him loosely. He’s letting his lips drag against Keith’s ear, whispering something to him that’s too quiet to make out, but Rolo assumes he isn’t meant to hear it anyway.

 

“Hey, Red,” Rolo whispers, teasing teeth and tongue and nails over every inch of Keith that he can reach, feeling more full and satisfied than he ever has in his life, “I definitely think you look best from this angle.”

 

Keith’s entire body goes rigid then, muscles tensing to an almost unbearable point around Rolo as he lets out a single, piercing cry. His thighs clench, his back arches, his hips jerk wildly. He’s slumping back against Shiro, boneless and so beautiful as spurts of white splatter across his stomach and chest.

 

The intensity of Shiro’s thrusts reaches its peak, and in the thick and heat of it all, Rolo manages to push himself up far enough to meet Keith’s lips -- which isn’t exactly hard, seeing as Shiro’s got him near bent in half -- and hungrily takes all he can get.

 

The throb of Rolo’s pulse matches that in his cock when he comes right as Shiro tugs his thighs up higher, gunning his hips. Keith’s eyes, which had been fluttering shut in post-bliss satisfaction, fly back open as he smothers a scream into Rolo’s mouth from oversensitivity, from the gush of warm liquid that seems almost neverending through the ride of his orgasm.

 

Shiro grunts through his own end, finally edging into a steady, rocking rhythm, until he tapers off to a complete stop.

 

There’s only the sounds of panting and gasping for a long time. Nobody makes a move for what seems to be ages. They’ve been reduced to nothing but a heaping mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and receding heartbeats.

 

Eventually, Shiro moves first, groaning when he slides from between Rolo’s slackened thighs. Dazedly, Rolo unsheathes and disentangles himself from Keith, and in a joint effort he and Shiro help Keith lay back on the bed. He curls up into a contented ball, breathing shallow and raspy, hair softly curling and clinging to his sweaty forehead.

 

Rolo manages to drag his over-relaxed body to retrieve a towel, taking on the task of carefully wiping Keith down, starting from his stomach and pulling up over his chest to his ruddy cheeks, then down to the mess between his legs. He murmurs incomprehensible things through it all, so quiet and light Rolo can’t possibly make them out, but he’s smiling in a way that wrenches a tight lump into Rolo’s throat.

 

Few words are being exchanged between them, and it takes Keith a while to be able to respond enough that the worried expression completely leaves Shiro’s face. Rolo, probably the quickest to bounce back even after such a mind-blowing orgasm, helps them gather their clothes and dresses them.

 

By the time they’ve gotten to the armor, Keith is mumbling real words again, is able to function enough to clasp back on his chest piece by himself. He’s still out of earshot from Rolo as he leans on Shiro and whispers something into his ear, probably whatever sweet things lovers say to each other after such an experience. Shiro peppers a few chaste kisses to his neck, then gives Rolo a lazy grin and thanks him for the good time.

 

For a beat, Keith doesn’t say anything to him. Rolo stands awkwardly by the bed, feeling dirty and exposed despite having pulled on a ratty t-shirt. The gap between where flesh meets prosthetic gives a sympathetic ache that shoots up to his side. He watches them go, watches their retreating backs with a weight sitting heavy in his chest.

 

Then, when Keith reaches the threshold of the door, he pauses and tells Shiro to go on ahead without him for a second. Sensing the atmosphere, Shiro gives one last stoic glance at Rolo before nodding, and then it’s just the two of them again.

 

“I…” Keith says, wringing his hands together. He’s looking at him with almost hurt eyes, as if -- as if he can somehow sense the betrayal to come. “...hope we’ll meet again someday.”

 

Keith closes the space between them, purposefully drawing out his steps. One last time, he presses his mouth to his -- a parting kiss, a goodbye kiss, a maybe-we’ll-meet-again-someday kiss. It’s short, sweet, if a little sad.

 

“Me, too,” Rolo responds when Keith pulls back, bringing his fingers to his tingling lips, “...See you around, Red.”

 

And then he’s gone, they’re gone, and when his bracelet flashes urgently on his wrist, Rolo’s room has never felt emptier.

 

* * *

 

 

They watch the castle-ship take off, its sparkling blue lights blinding them in the gritty dusk, adding salt to the wound of their defeat. Rolo folds a comforting hand upon Nyma’s shoulder, but she shakes him off.

 

She hunches away from him sharply, shoulder’s rounded, trembling enough that Rolo knows better than to approach her again. There’s only the sounds of barely audible sniffles, of Beezer printing out some sheets of tissue-like paper for her. She doesn’t accept their offer, either.

 

“The distress signal’s still up.” Rolo pushes himself to speak after a long time of nothing but this strained, tense atmosphere. “The navigation system picked up a Zolorthian colony not far from here. Because of my previous, uh, ‘alliance’ with them, we should have someone stopping by in the morning.”

 

“ _It’ll be okay_ ,” he wants to add, but stops himself. It will do no good to continue lying with someone like Nyma, not when it took several years alone to get her to trust him enough to let him fly as head pilot on his own ship.

 

He knows it will only make things worse between them to give false comforts. He knows she’ll feel better after she sleeps, anyway. He knows they’ll both wake up more determined than ever, and keep pressing on in this troubled lifestyle regardless of what might happen. Nyma will pretend that her eyes have never teared a day in her life as she bats them at her admirers, and Rolo will continue wooing nameless faces and bodies only to snatch all their belongings and leave them naked, robbed blind on some foreign planet while they curse his name into the sky.

 

However, Rolo busies himself with different thoughts tonight, watching the way the sky fades into seamless black around them, settling deep into his skin, into his bones. He shivers against the blowing wind.

 

Rolo thinks about Keith, spread wide and trusting, splayed beautiful and flushing above him. He thinks about Keith, smiling, his swollen, reddened lips fluttering up his prosthetic.

 

Rolo thinks about Shiro, with his head thrown back and eyes screwed shut as he buried himself in him so deeply he swears he can still feel him. He thinks about how he leaned in close, held and spoke to Keith with a tenderness Rolo realizes he knows nothing about.

 

Rolo thinks about the glossy look in Nyma’s eye when she picks her head back up, the way she sits silently, neither complaining nor admitting defeat -- always unmovable, stoic in the face of hardship.

 

Slowly, Beezer eases into sleep mode. The crackling fire begins to pop and wane into nothing more than softly burning embers. Nyma eventually slumps against him in exhaustion, after spending hours staring melancholically at the stars.

 

Rolo pulls a blanket from the ground, draping it across Nyma as he disentangles himself from her and sets her down gently on the rock bench of their campsite.

 

Moving forward and stoking the almost-dead fire, he thinks about numbers, all empty and meaningless. He thinks about how nothing in his life has seemed memorable before today, everything a blend of random events with the common thread of being impermanent and fleeting, of him chasing one pointless adrenaline high after the next.

 

He eyes Beezer’s input panel, scratches his head, yawns.

 

Settling himself as comfortably as he can against another rock, arms cradling his head as he shuts his eyes with a sigh, Rolo thinks about new beginnings.

 

And for the first time in his life, he doesn't add to his tally.

 

**Author's Note:**

> What are the detailed rules to Nyma’s and Rolo’s game, you might ask? I’ve been thinking about it a lot and tbh I’m sure many, many stipulations have been added over the years because both of them are dirty lyin’ cheats….


End file.
